So we’re out with our shiny new baby the other day, and a new grandmother behind me struck up a conversation. Oh, she’s cute, I love the name, is she your first? Pretty standard newborn fare. However, when I told her we had a son at home, she said, ‘Ohhh, a millionaire’s family—how wonderful!’
Yeah, thanks! Wait. What?
Did I just get mistaken for a millionaire? Yesssssssssss! Bout time; I’ve been working on my Oh-he’s-so-rich-he-dresses-this-way-out-of-irony look for years. I’ve always felt the spit-up stains particularly tie my ensembles together.
I had no idea what she was talking about. I like to think of myself as pretty well-versed in idiomatic expressions, but this one eluded me. So I smiled politely at the strange lady, said ‘Thank you’ and ran home to Google it.
Turns out it IS an expression. Possibly of British origins. Most likely referring to the “perfect family,” hence implying that simply having one child of each sex was JUST LIKE hitting the lottery. Hence, you are a millionaire’s family.
Umm…yeah. I don’t know about you, but when I picture a millionaire’s family, I see Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. Let me go ahead and clearly outline the ways that having two sub-two year-olds differs from this fantasyland:
- We don’t sleep on silk or satin sheets. Oh sure, we have them. We just don’t get to sleep.
- We don’t have a chef or a long dining table, but this one time, we all actually ate at the table together at the same time. Except for the breastfeeder—that would be weird.
- We don’t have a yacht named after a Greek goddess. But I do enjoy that Greek Goddess dressing at Trader Joe’s. Too bad I hate salads.
- When we want some “quality family time,” we just take an aimless cruise in the old Corrolla. You can’t possibly put four humans in closer proximity without physically touching.
- Sure, we don’t belong to the country club, but I caught the end of Caddyshack 2 the other night on cable and I’d like to say for the record that yes, it holds up.
- I don’t smell like money, unfortunately. But we do have a money plant (that’s actually the scientific classification) named Jack. He’s on his second pot already, thank you very much, and he doesn’t even squeeze his cheeks when I change his diaper.
- We don’t have a Jacuzzi tub—that would be a complete waste. As it is, sometimes I catch myself staring at our shower like it’s a time machine that would be so cool to use, but who has the time to figure it out, right? Pass me the Tom’s.